


we can pretend that they don't know our name

by scrubclub



Series: manor/estate [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Forbidden Love, Modern Westerosi Political Fun!, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rich!Arya and Stable Master!Gendry, Scandal, Secret Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and then, longing glances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrubclub/pseuds/scrubclub
Summary: Robb and Catelyn are on the campaign trail, Jon's well out of cell phone service, Sansa's with her boyfriend in Dorne, Bran and Rickon are at Aunt Lysa's and Arya is under house arrest.Charged with looking after the family estate, Arya is dreading her summer of solitude, but quickly discovers that the Winterfell staff are exactly the kind of company she's been craving.





	we can pretend that they don't know our name

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this glorious post](https://bethgreenesgf.tumblr.com/post/184955683751/arya-all-alone-in-her-familys-mansion-for-the).
> 
> I considered making this a multi-chapter story, but it ended up working for me as a long one-shot. It's sort of told in little snippets, which was fun to write - I hope it's not painful to read! 
> 
>  
> 
> Here's to Westeros' sexiest couple, babes. xx

It was the protest that had been the last straw for Catelyn. Yes, the photograph of her younger daughter smoking marijuana at some college party had been shameful, but the press had moved on to greater, more shocking scandals soon enough. The punch Arya had landed on Joffrey Baratheon last fall had sparked more headlines, but Joffrey _had_ just very publicly cheated on her older sister. The papers seemed skeptical that a girl of Arya’s size could have done much damage, and so that too blew over in time. This, though, was Catelyn’s breaking point. She dropped the paper in front of Arya in her study. 

It was on the back page, where all of the pulpy celebrity news went. **“STARK BETRAYAL”** read the headline, plastered over a photo of Arya at the rally she had attended the weekend before. **“The late Ned Stark’s tempestuous daughter takes aim at Maester Pycelle - a longtime supporter of her father. What would daddy say?”**

“Tempestuous?” Arya laughed, “How Shakespearean.” Catelyn did not smile. 

“Your picket sign,” she said, “attacks a man who has been vocally supportive of our family for _years_. What were you even doing at this ...thing? You’re not even - you like boys, don’t you?”

“That’s not important. Maester Pycelle is trying to tell the world that straight, white men have a right to decide how everyone else lives their lives,” Arya said calmly. She had been ready for this. “I just don’t think it’s right. Mycah is one of my best friends and he should be allowed to marry whoever he wants! Besides, it wasn't even just about gay rights, mother. We were there for women, too, victims of abuse, marginalized groups - you know that group I’m volunteering with? They -,”

“Arya,” Catelyn interrupted, “If you wanted an audience with Maester Pycelle you should have told me and we could have arranged that. But no, you had to go out and publicly criticize him, and now he’s balking on engagements with Robb. Pycelle is one man who helps this nation make decisions, but he is an important one to have on our side and now, thanks to you, we may have lost his support for good.” 

Arya shrugged. “I don’t regret it.” 

-

She did regret it. 

Catelyn and Robb would be on the campaign trail with the Prime Minister all summer. Jon was working far beyond where cell service cut out. Sansa was spending the summer with her latest boyfriend in Dorne, soaking up the sun and being photographed at charity galas. Rickon and Bran were off to spend their holidays on the coast with their aunt Lysa and cousin Robin - they, at least, might have drawn a shorter straw than Arya. 

Arya was on house arrest. Catelyn never said those words out loud, but they both knew it to be true. She had been charged with running the family estate, Winterfell, and was not to leave the grounds without express permission from Catelyn. It was punishment for ‘acting out’ masked as ‘a summer of useful experience for a young woman who might one day run her own household’.

Every day she would have to check in on the staff, writing out a short report for her mother at the end of each week. In short, she would be bored out of her mind. She was twenty-one and would be spending the summer before her final year of university in isolation, almost completely alone in a big empty house. 

-

The kitchens were fun to stop in on. The cooks only had a few mouths to feed each day - Arya, Septa Mordane, and Maester Luwin were the only full-time tenants this summer, along with the staff - so they liked to experiment. Arya helped them make bread on the first day, and by the end of the week, the ladies in the kitchens were fawning over the crispness of her crusts. 

The cleaning staff were quiet, but they seemed to enjoy when Arya tested out the newly waxed floors by sliding across them in her socks.

The gardeners seemed surprised at her willingness to join them in the dirt, but they happily handed her a pair of gloves as she helped them weed out the flower beds. 

-

Despite often spending more time than needed on her check-ins, Arya’s days became dull very quickly. The staff were excellent at their jobs and seemed to enjoy them. Winterfell was her home, but some days her presence felt unnecessary, almost intrusive. It was uncomfortably quiet. Arya knew that she imposed herself upon the cooks and the gardeners too often, and it only took a handful of days for her to feel completely cooped up. 

She stared longingly out of her window and watched as the river down the hill flowed calmly along. It was hot, and she had done everything her mother had asked of her. There was a perfectly good swimming pool on the grounds but today, the river looked too inviting. 

-

Arya floated in the cool water wearing only her bra and underwear. She figured it was hardly worth tracking down her swimming costume when there was no one around. The water made her feel better about being alone. A part of her wished she was a fish so that she could swim away, all the way to the ocean and never look back. 

When her fingers began to prune, Arya returned to the shore and picked up her t-shirt and shorts. She would dry off on the sunny walk back up to the house, and slip her clothes on before anyone could see her in her half-naked state. Having the grounds almost completely to herself had its upsides.

Walking past the boathouse reminded Arya of the days she and Bran and her father would spend on the river, releasing every fish they caught. It had been almost four years now since her dad’s death, and it still felt as though she was missing a limb sometimes. Some days she would remember suddenly that he was gone and feel as if she had been punched in the gut. The words from the paper came to mind - ‘what would daddy say?’. She hoped that he would be on her side. 

She reached the stables and was startled by the slamming of a door and the sudden appearance of a man. He was taller and broader than any of her brothers, though he looked younger than both Robb and Jon. He had thick black hair that fell into his eyes and a handsome face. The man froze as he saw Arya, his lips parting slightly in shock as he surveyed her. 

She should have covered herself up, she knew. Any proper lady would have done so - though any proper lady likely wouldn’t have been wandering the grounds in her undergarments in the first place. But there was something about his gaze that she liked. She could feel his eyes trace their way down her neck, along her barely concealed breasts, down the curve of her waist. She liked that he looked more curious than uncomfortable, though there was a pinkish blush growing along his neck.

“Who’re you?” he asked with a small smile, now meeting her eyes. 

“Arya Stark,” she said, and she wasn’t sure why she took such pleasure in the sudden panic that crossed his face. He immediately stood up straighter and seemed determined now to not let his eyes drop from hers. “And you?” 

“Gendry,” he said, before adding as something of an afterthought, “M’lady.”

“You’re the new stable master?” She asked. She remembered her mother mentioning old Mikken’s retirement, but she hadn’t realized they had already found a replacement. 

“Stable master, handyman, whatever you’d like to call it, m’lady. I’ll be working around the grounds as needed all summer.” 

“There’s no need to call me that,” Arya said, as she walked past him and continued towards the house, “‘Arya’ is fine. Nice to meet you, Gendry.” 

“And you, m’lady,” he said. She could feel his eyes follow her up the path.

\- 

The next morning, she watched him from her window as he took the horses out to their field. He spent far too much time pushing his messy hair out of his face, but he seemed to know what he was doing. She would pass the second observation on to her mother. 

\- 

She lay by the pool and read her book as he repaired the doorframe to the pool house. He didn’t seem to notice she was there, not even when when she lay on her stomach and undid the strings of her bikini to tan. 

-

On the first real day of summer, he spent the morning helping the landscapers lift some old bricks from the courtyard into wheelbarrows. He had taken his shirt off and tucked it into the pocket of his work pants. Arya walked by with her clipboard and looked at him the way he had looked at her in her soaking wet underwear. He said nothing, but she thought she saw him smile as he heaved another brick onto the pile. 

-

He was mending the lock on the garden gate as she helped the gardeners plant some snapdragons. He spoke to her for the first time since the day by the stables. 

“Didn’t think rich girls liked to get their hands dirty,” he said, as she created a well in the soil. 

“Don’t think you know too many rich girls,” she said, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. He gave her a funny sort of smile as he picked up his toolbox and departed.

-

“Things are going well, then?” Catelyn asked over the phone, “Septa Mordane seems to think so, which is a relief to hear.” 

“Everything is perfect and in order, mother. No need to have that old bat spying on me.” 

-

Arya found Jon’s old bike out of the shed and cleaned it up, replacing the tires and re-oiling the chains. She figured it would be fun to take out on the windy country lanes, since her mother had left her without a car. The bike didn’t look so bad now that its handlebars were cobweb-free - she wiped her greasy hands on her old jeans and stood back to admire her handiwork. 

“Looks good,” said a voice and she turned to see Gendry walking by carrying five or six planks of wood.

“Thanks,” she said, but he was already on his way.

-

She noticed him watching her as she did her rounds in the mornings. Some days his eyes would drop as soon as she looked at him. Other days, their eyes would meet and he would look at her for a breath or two as if she was a riddle he couldn’t solve. 

-

The cooks taught her how to make Sansa's favourite lemon cakes and Rickon's favourite tomato soup. 

Lottie, the head of the kitchen, beamed with pride as she tasted Arya's creations. "We'll have you making that mutton stew that Jon loves next!" Arya wrinkled her nose at that.

-

Gendry was replacing a handle on the stove when Arya entered the kitchen, looking for sugar to put in the hummingbird feeders. He nodded in greeting and carried on with his work. Arya climbed the little step stool and stood on her toes to reach the small sack of sugar on the upper shelf. She cursed herself for being short as she stretched for it. And _why_ did they not have a proper step ladder? The stool barely added a foot to her height. 

“Need a hand?” She hadn’t noticed that he had stopped his work to watch her. She scowled.

“I’m fine,” she said, resuming her attempts. 

He strode over and plucked the sugar down with ease, setting it on the counter with a small smirk. 

“Show off,” she said with a scowl as she stepped off the stool gracelessly, stumbling a little. He reached out automatically and caught her by the elbow, steadying her. For a breath they were frozen, eyes locked, before he dropped her arm and turned back to the stove. 

“Thank you, Gendry,” she said as she picked up the sugar and made to leave. 

“No need, Lady Stark.” 

-

She took a bottle of whiskey to the river one evening and sat with her feet in the water until dusk came. She laid back and stared at the stars as they slowly arrived in the night’s sky. 

“Don’t you get bored?” She had not yet appreciated how pleasant his voice was - rich and deep, but not refined. If she was to guess, she would say he was from the city. 

“Almost every day,” she answered honestly. 

“Why don’t you ever leave?” he asked as he approached and sat down beside her. 

“Because my mother would kill me.”

“Ah,” he said, “you’re being punished. What’d you do?”

“Long story,” she said, offering him the bottle. He took a drink. 

“I’ve got time.”

-

Gendry thought it was preposterous that Arya was being held captive just because she had pissed off her brother’s political allies. 

“Who cares if it’s election season? You were right,” he had said as they lay by the river. 

He walked her back up to the house and she thought that they might be friends now.

-

"Sometimes I think it looks better when it's overgrown," Arya mused as she trimmed a bush in the garden. Clara, an older woman who had worked in Winterfell's gardens for as long as Arya could remember, nodded. 

"I think most things are more beautiful when they're wild," Clara said fondly. 

-

“You must be so bored, Arya. Is there a single other person on the property under forty?” 

“One of the gardening girls is your age I think, and there’s a groundskeeper guy who’s, like, twenty-four or twenty-five.”

“Is he cute?”

“Sansa, honestly, is that all you think about? How’s Dorne?”

-

She sighed as she stood on the stone balcony and looked out at the grounds. It wasn’t all bad, her summer of solitude, but some days were awfully quiet. 

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” Harwin, the jolly older man who looked after the hedges, was walking below and smiling up at her from under his large moustache, “It is the east, and Lady Stark is the sun!” Arya smiled back and waved hello. 

Gendry was locking up the toolshed, and Arya caught him grinning at the scene. She was pleased that he didn’t look away when she caught his eye.

-

She lay in her bikini with her sunglasses on and her headphones in. The pool house shutters should only have taken him an hour or so to paint, but he seemed to have trouble focusing on his task. When she turned onto her stomach and undid the back of her suit, she was almost positive she heard him let out a low, heavy breath. 

\- 

“There,” Gendry said, teasing the sliver out of her palm, “This is why you wear gloves when you’re painting old fences.” He softly touched the spot where the wood had caught her. His hand was much larger than hers, and rougher. She liked his touch, the way his thumb traced gentle circles across her palm. 

“Lady Stark!” They both jumped and Gendry immediately dropped Arya’s hand. “What are you doing?” Septa Mordane stared at Arya, her eyes accusing. 

“I’m helping to repaint the fence, Septa,” Arya said, motioning to their work. “Gendry was just helping me take a sliver out of my hand.” The older woman gave Gendry a suspicious look. 

“I think perhaps you should leave that work to the help, dear. Come along, we’ll have the Maester fetch you a bandage.” Arya followed Septa Mordane inside and glanced back to see Gendry already kneeling at the fence, his jaw set and his face focused on his work.

-

Arya barely saw him over the next week. She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her or if he was just busier than usual. 

-

She watched from her bedroom window as he heaved the bag of oats onto his shoulder with ease. The sun had barely risen, and most of the staff had not yet started their day. He looked like something out of one of Sansa’s romantic period movies - strong and handsome, with unruly hair and a sharp jaw. She sunk onto her elbows as she observed him.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he glanced up at her window. She gave him a small wave and he responded with only a brief nod before turning towards the stables.

-

“Septa Mordane mentioned that you seem to be growing close to some of the staff.”

“Well they are the only people around, aren’t they? Lottie in the kitchens says she’s going to have me cook for you all when -,”

“That sounds lovely, dear. Just please make sure that you are focusing on keeping the house in order rather than getting too friendly with the help.” 

-

Arya dreamed of him. She dreamed of his hands, his lips, his breath against her neck. His voice saying her name. “Arya”. She couldn’t meet his eye for two days. 

-

Robert Baratheon was ahead in every poll, with Robb beside him in every photo. Arya knew she should be proud of her brother, and pleased that her family had pulled themselves out of grief, set aside any lingering ill feelings from Sansa and Joffrey’s messy break-up, and continued to be right-hand to the leader of the nation. Instead, she felt nothing except a slight twinge of shame that she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of. 

-

Arya had missed riding. She had always been good at it, and it made her feel free the way few other things could. Her hair whipped around her face, falling out of her braid as she galloped along the country lane. The rain started when she was still a ways from home.

By the time she had reached the Winterfell grounds, hail was falling heavily. The thunder came next, spooking her horse. She patted him gently as his paces became frantic. He seemed to no longer want to head towards home. The horse was whinnying, moving jarringly, and Arya held tightly to the reins, knowing that another bout of thunder could send the animal running.

“Whoa,” came a voice, and Arya turned to see Gendry approaching slowly, his hands reaching for the horse. Her horse let him draw near, responding to his soothing tones as he patted its neck. The stress in the animal’s movements subsided and it settled, allowing Arya to loosen her grip on the reins. 

She slid off of her saddle and stood beside Gendry as he continued to rub the horse’s neck. “You alright?” He asked. The hail was so heavy that she could hardly hear him. She nodded and shivered. 

“Come on,” he said, “The stables aren’t far.”

-

The stables were warm and dry, but Arya continued to shiver as the hail pounded on the roof, occasionally accompanied by a rumble of thunder. 

“You should change,” Gendry said quietly as he locked the horse into his stall. He walked past her and pulled a spare shirt off of the hook by the door. It was a heavy, button-down work shirt, far too large for her. She nodded and swiftly pulled her own wet top over her head. Gendry froze, staring at her. His eyes traced her nearly bare torso as they had when he had first seen her. 

They stood like that for a few moments, drinking the other one in. She wanted him to act, to give her what she wanted. What they both wanted, surely.

He stepped to her and surprised her by slipping her arm gently into the sleeve of the shirt. He walked behind her and repeated the act on her other side. Moving to face her, his eyes did not leave hers as he slowly and carefully buttoned the shirt up, starting at the bottom, his fingers occasionally brushing her skin as they moved up her body. 

Arya reached for his hand as he arrived at the top button and stopped him. She guided his hand up, along her neck and up to her cheek until he was cupping her face. His eyes were a deeper blue than she had realized - somehow at once reminding her of a stormy sea and a calm summer sky. 

His face was inches for hers. Neither moved and neither looked away. 

“It’s stopped hailing,” he said, and she realized that he was right. The pounding on the roof had ceased. “They’ll be looking for Lady Stark at the manor.” He took his hand back and stepped away. 

-

She thought of him as she took a long shower. She thought of him as she laundered the shirt he had given her. She thought of him as she helped Lottie prepare a salad, distractedly cutting the onions too finely. She could still feel where his fingers had so lightly grazed her torso as he had done up her buttons. She could still feel his gaze on her.

-

He was just stupid, she decided. He wanted her - his eyes had given that much away. She remembered the way his hand dropped from hers when Septa Mordane had called her name. Stupid of him to think that any of that should matter. She wanted him and he wanted her, and she wasn’t going to let some miserable old woman or any stupid rules get in her way. 

-

The groundskeeping staff did not work on weekends, and so as dawn broke on Saturday, Arya knocked sharply on the door of Gendry’s cottage by the stables. She was glad that he didn’t stay in the staff lodgings with everyone else. He opened the door in a pair of cotton trousers that hung low on his hips. His hair was sticking to his forehead - he must have just showered. Arya stared contentedly at his bare chest before meeting his eyes with a smile. “Morning.”

“Arya,” he said. She liked it when he used her name. “Is something the matter?” 

“It’s your day off,” she said simply, “and I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk with me.”

He looked at her curiously. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She didn’t miss his eyes glancing skeptically towards the house.

“I am,” she said, “Septa Mordane is away for the weekend, visiting her sister in Cerwyn. Without her I’ll be very lonely.” She looked up at him, eyes wide with hope. Gendry sighed. 

“Let me find a shirt,” he said. 

-

Arya loved the view from the hills. Her shoes were muddy and her cheeks felt flushed, but looking out over the rugged northern landscape made her feel powerful, like an ancient sorceress or a wild princess from a fairy tale. Gendry stood beside her and let out a low whistle as he took in the view. 

“Not bad,” he said. She grinned at him. 

-

“So what’s your deal?” Gendry asked her as they lay side by side in the grass, “You don’t strike me as someone who wants to run a grand estate for your whole life.” 

“I want to change the world,” Arya said, turning her body to face his, “My friends at school all come from very different families than mine, and sometimes I talk to them and I feel like the entire power structure of the world needs to be flipped on its head, you know? I know it sounds silly coming from a girl who’s never had to work for anything in her life, but I have to go to these over-the-top dinners with rich and powerful people and it just doesn’t feel right that these assholes get to make decisions that affect everyone.” He was looking at her with an odd expression and rolled over so that they were face to face.

“What does your family think about that? Wanting to flip the world on its head and everything?” 

“I don’t care what my family thinks,” Arya replied, and it felt like the truth. 

“Good,” he said, and he kissed her. 

\- 

His fingers tangled into her hair as he moved to lay above her. She kissed him like it was their last day on earth. 

-

His hands were rough from work, but as they moved under her shirt she was not sure she had felt anything so delicate. 

-

She was bare to him, properly. There was no soaked fabric between them now, no wishful looks or hesitation, just Arya and Gendry. Gendry and Arya. Alone together in the grass, under the hot summer sky. 

-

He kissed her behind the stable before she left him in the late afternoon. 

“I don’t think we should tell anyone about this,” he said as he pulled away. 

“I don’t care -,” she started, and he brought a thumb to softly her lips. 

“I know you don’t care, Arya, but I don’t think I would have a job for too much longer if your Septa knew that we’d, well -,” Gendry trailed off, blushing slightly. 

“Fine,” Arya said, pulling him down for one last kiss, “Just between us.”

-

She met him by the river the night after, when the house was fast asleep.

“Is doing this outdoors, like, a turn-on for you?” Gendry asked, as they lay on their backs, catching their breath. 

“Are you complaining?” She asked. 

“Not at all. I was just wondering, since I do have a perfectly comfortable bed. They treat the staff alright here, you know.” Arya smacked his arm playfully. 

“We can do it in your bed next time.”

“Next time,” he said contentedly. 

Gendry was sort of beautiful, lying by her side, lit up silver by the moon. He seemed unwilling to look away from her. 

-

“Against the stable door,” he said as he buttoned up his trousers and tossed her shirt to her, “Not quite a bed, but at least we’ve moved out of public sight.” She just grinned at him, her cheeks still flushed with pleasure. 

-

They did, eventually, make it to Gendry’s bed. And Gendry’s work desk. And Gendry’s shower. She helped him make dinner in the cottage’s small kitchen and she pestered him with questions about the civil engineering degree that he was a semester away from completing. 

“My dream is to build homes,” he said, turning down the stove as the water began to boil. “Proper, livable homes that don’t bankrupt people.” He explained to her his vision of affordable, practical flats that could replace the slums of Flea Bottom, should any landlord ever consider improving conditions for their tenants. She thought it sounded wonderful.

-

She told him about the group that she and Mycah volunteered with during the school year. 

“It’s like a halfway home for single parents and homeless kids, but it also organizes a bunch of movements and we work on getting unjust legal cases dropped and working out petitions that might actually gain traction within the government. They don’t have much money to work with, but it’s amazing, Gendry. You should see these people.”

“It’s in King’s Landing, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s not far from Hot Pie’s - you know Hot Pie’s, right?”

“My apartment isn’t even two blocks from there. I’ll have to swing by and see you in action some time.” She couldn’t help but feel a rush of pleasure at the sincerity in his voice and the fondness in his gaze. 

-

He told her about his mother, who had died when he was eight. She used to sing him to sleep, and she had hair like sunshine. He spent the next ten years with various foster families, never in one home for too long. 

“What about your dad?” Arya asked quietly, knowing that the answer wouldn’t be a happy one. 

“How should I know?” She pulled him into a tight hug and he laughed softly into her hair. “Don’t you go feeling sorry for me, Lady Stark. I’m alright.” 

-

“You seem happy,” Jon said, his voice a little fuzzy due to the patchy reception, “Have you made friends with all of the cooks and cleaners?” Arya smiled to herself. Of course Jon knew that she wouldn’t be in good spirits if she was truly alone. 

“The staff are lovely, Jon. I’m not sure what my mother was thinking.”

“If she truly wanted to punish you, she’d have sent you off to Dorne with Sansa and Jeyne.”

-

On the anniversary of her father’s death, Arya felt more alone than she had all summer. She missed her brothers, her sister, even her mother.

Arya snuck out of the house at midnight and knocked on Gendry’s door until he opened it, bleary eyed and wearing only his boxer shorts. He let her in without even a question, and they lay together quietly. 

She told him about Ned and every minuscule thing she missed about him, occasionally pausing to wipe a tear off of the shoulder she lay against. Gendry only held her tighter.

She thought about his mother. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I wish you had gotten to know her more.”

“It’s probably easier, not remembering much about her.” He threaded his fingers through hers. 

“It might be, but I still wish you had known her.”

“Me too.”

They lay in silence until Gendry spoke again. 

“I think your dad will be proud of whatever you do, even if you upset a few people along the way.” Arya kissed his shoulder softly and fell asleep in his arms. 

-

She walked through the doors the next morning with tired eyes and a warm heart. A very stern Septa Mordane stood in the entrance hall, waiting. 

“And where were you last night?” She demanded.

“I slept by the river,” Arya lied, “I needed to be out of the house.” Septa Mordane eyed her carefully, but seemed to accept this answer. 

-

“Can I ask how a guy from Flea Bottom became so good with horses?” Arya asked, patting a pretty white mare as Gendry offered some oats to the largest stallion. 

“One of the families that fostered me had an old aunt who lived in the Reach,” Gendry said fondly, “Spent a few summers on her farm. Always loved it out there.” Arya smiled. 

“Do you still keep in touch?” She asked, regretting the question immediately as she saw his face fall. 

“I got moved to a new home sort of suddenly,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “We should get you back to the house for supper, or Lottie will have my head.” He smiled at her briefly before dropping his gaze again. Arya followed him out of the stables, wondering what had happened and why he wouldn’t look at her. 

As they parted, she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. He squeezed back. 

-

“What about the hot stable boy you mentioned? Have we seen him without a shirt again?” Mycah demanded over the phone.

“Once or twice,” Arya said, determined to sound casual.

“I sure hope it was while you were underneath him.” 

Arya paused, not sure how much she wanted to tell Mycah. Apparently that pause was enough to tell him everything.

“Arya. Stark. Tell me everything. Does he have one of those little riding whips?”

“Mycah!” 

-

Gendry looked a little nervous about being in her bedroom. “Are you sure this is allowed?” He asked, glancing at the four poster bed and the double doors leading out to a small balcony where the morning sun was pouring in.

“I actually do need my air conditioning fixed, Gendry. I’m not luring you in here to seduce you.” 

“Let’s not say that too loudly, alright?” he said, glancing at the door. 

“Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin are helping out at some church event in town all day and the cleaners have already done this floor. No one is around.” He sighed and moved to the air conditioning unit. She flopped onto her bed and watched him. 

“You just gonna sit there and look over my shoulder, then?” he asked. 

“Mhm,” she hummed. She fiddled with a button of her blouse. “It’s been awful with no AC. Even with the windows open I’ve had to sleep completely naked.” She smiled to herself as he sighed and shook his head but didn’t look up from his work. 

“I toss and turn all night,” Arya continued, “all sweaty and, as I said, naked.” Gendry chuckled but continued to tinker with one of the fans. She sighed. He was impossible sometimes.

“I guess I shouldn’t put the blame solely on the air conditioning,” she mused. “Thinking about you definitely gets me hot as well, and I do that almost every night.” He dropped the tool he was holding and she smirked triumphantly as he let out a heavy breath and picked it up. 

Arya gave him a moment to recover before carrying on. “It’s not the same without you here with me, but just thinking about you is still effective, you know?” There was a small click and the motor of her air conditioning unit began to hum quietly. Gendry tucked his tools away and headed to the door. 

Arya sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. “Are you seriously leaving?” She asked, a little stung. He reached the door and locked it before turning back to face her. 

“As if I could,” he said as he took off his work belt and met her with a kiss. “Now tell me more about your solo activities.”

-

“In the name of openness, I think of you when I get myself off, too.” Gendry said into her hair as they lay together, wrapped up in her sheets. Arya grinned.

-

She dozed off in his arms, using his chest as a pillow. He held her close and she heard him sigh as she faded into sleep. The sound was a little bit blissful and a little bit sad. 

-

“I got arrested,” Gendry said quietly. They were facing each other and he was absentmindedly threading his fingers through hers. “I was still seventeen and had no priors, so I avoided getting a permanent record. But they sent me to a boys' home, somewhere for troubled youths that offered more discipline than my foster home. It was too bad, cause they had been my favourite foster parents. Their real son was only eight when I left. Not sure he understood where I was going.” 

Arya touched his cheek gently and then pushed her hand back through his hair. She leaned forwards and kissed him on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” She kissed his brow. “You deserved that family. And they deserved you.” He brought their foreheads together and shut his eyes. 

-

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I did?” He asked, pulling his shirt on. It was late in the afternoon, and the Septa and Maester were due back shortly. Arya shrugged. 

“I assumed it was something stupid that seventeen-year-old boys do - stealing a pack of cigarettes or the like.” He grinned. 

“Not quite. I sort of joined a gang.”

“A gang?” Arya asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I felt lonely and jaded I guess. They spent their time keeping the streets of King’s Landing safe - in theory. Lots of their enemies took a pretty hefty beating. I was only the getaway driver, so I didn’t get done for assault or anything serious.” He looked at Arya somewhat nervously. “In hindsight it was pretty stupid for me to get involved at all.”

“Shit, Gendry, you’re hardcore. If you ever want to get back into that line of work, I have a list of people who could do with a punch in the face.”

-

“So Mycah told me about your stableboy,” Lanna said, and Arya could just picture the grin on her friend’s face. 

“He’s not mine,” Arya said, though the thought of him being anyone else’s made her feel like throwing her phone across the room. 

“Regardless, it’s hot. I’ve always wanted to fuck someone totally off-limits - is the sex amazing?”

“Lanna, you slept with your TA last term.” 

“That’s different, your mum would probably kill both you and this horse boy if she found out. Anyway, the sex - how hot is it?” Arya did her best to push the thought of Catelyn’s reaction out of her mind. 

“It’s mind-blowing, to be honest,” Arya said, “He’s far more generous than Ned.” 

“Thank god. Tell me everything.” 

-

Robert Baratheon’s approval ratings were up.

Robb Stark was the golden boy at his side, and Catelyn could not have been prouder. 

The dress Sansa wore to the annual Martell Summer Gala was worth as much as a small car. 

Harwin tried to teach Arya how to use his motorized hedge trimmer, and Gendry almost coughed up a lung as she accidentally sliced the horn off of a topiary unicorn. “Now it’s a horse!” said Harwin cheerfully as Gendry leaned against his lawnmower, laughing too hard to continue the job. 

-

“So when you mentioned that list of people who needed a punch in the face, are you including Joffrey Baratheon on there?” Gendry asked her as he walked her up towards the house. “Or did you cross his name off after you got him last year?”

“You heard about that?”

“Everyone heard about that,” he paused. “It was hot.” 

“Huh?” 

“When you punched him. I watched the video again last night,” he admitted, shrugging, “and I can confirm that it was super hot.”

Arya elbowed him lightly and was glad that it was too dark for him to see her blush. 

-

She thought about how her family had reacted when she had hit Joffrey. He had it coming, sleeping with one of Sansa’s best friends behind her back and then showing up at Sansa’s birthday party to rub it in, bragging loudly about how he had fucked the birthday girl and still could if he wanted to. Arya knew that assaulting people was generally discouraged, but it had stunned her that even Sansa seemed ashamed of her. Robb and Catelyn had treated her as if she had attacked an unsuspecting and innocent child. 

“It was hot.” 

His voice echoed in her head, and she fell asleep grinning like an idiot.

-

Home felt like home. Arya’s days were spent with the staff, laughing at Harwin’s jokes, stealing biscuits from Lottie, rolling her eyes at Gendry stopping mid-task to bow as she approached. Septa Mordane could not complain - the house and its grounds looked exquisite, and there was always something new to be done. 

Arya’s nights were spent with Gendry. Even on the nights when he lay in his small cottage and she in her king size four poster bed, she fell asleep thinking only of him.

-

The end began on a hot day in August. 

The heat was oppressive, the air felt heavy, and all work seemed to happen in slow motion. Harwin paused to wipe his brow twice every minute. Gendry was cleaning the pool with his shirt off, eyeing the cool water longingly. Lottie and Arya had filled up the table by the pool deck with lemonade and cucumber sandwiches and buckets upon buckets of ice. 

Arya was handing some lemonade to one of the gardeners when she heard her name screamed from the house. 

“Arya! Surprise!” She spun around and saw Sansa running down the steps towards her, “I’m back!” 

-

“I felt like you deserved some company after a summer all alone. Trystane is coming up later in the month to meet the whole family. Oh and I’ve convinced him to bring Ned! Ooh, can I have some lemonade?” 

“Ned Dayne?” 

“Yes, Ned Dayne. I know you two have _history_.”

“We broke up a year ago, Sansa. We barely even dated!” Arya did her best not to look towards the pool.

“And? He’s so hot and you should see the yacht he owns. It’s basically a cruise ship. A rekindling of that romance might be in your best interest.” 

Sansa didn’t seem to notice the clatter as the pool net was unceremoniously tossed back onto its hooks, but Arya certainly did. 

-

“You shouldn’t be here, Lady Stark.” She stood at the entrance to the stables and he refused to look at her, instead pretending to fix one of the locks on the stall doors.

“Stop that. I’m sorry, alright? She arrived with no warning I -,”

“You’ve got no reason to be sorry.” 

“And all that about Ned Dayne, we’re not - I’m not interested in -,”

“Arya,” Gendry cut her off again, “I don’t care if you’re interested in some rich boy with a yacht. We both knew that whatever this was couldn’t last forever. It was never going to be anything real.” She stared at his back, hurt and anger swelling in her chest.

“Excuse me?”

“It was a fantasy, Arya, a distraction for the summer. We both know that.” He had his head bowed, as if taking his gloves off was a task that required his full attention. 

“Say that to my face,” she said, “Look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t real.” He exhaled and finally turned to her. 

“Arya, look -,” 

“Say it, Gendry,” she moved to him, her eyes not leaving his. “Say that I mean nothing to you and that this was all just some rich girl fantasy you were fulfilling to distract yourself from your summer job. Tell me that none of this was real.” 

She was mere inches from him, daring him to lie to her. He took a low, shaky breath and she saw the resignation in his eyes as he spoke. “I can’t,” he admitted.

“Good,” Arya said, and she kissed him. 

-

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her neck, moving steadily down to her collarbone, “Sometimes I let myself forget who I am.” He breathed softly into the base of her throat. “And who you are.”

“It’s alright,” she said, closing her eyes as his lips brushed against her skin. “It’s easy to forget the complicated stuff when we’re alone.” He nodded against her chest. 

“But this is real,” he said, bringing his face back to hers and kissing her soundly. 

“We’re going to make this work,” she said, and she knew that it was true. 

-

“You know, we’re both going to be in the city come September,” she said, and the flicker of hope in his eyes just about winded her. 

“Have you ever been on the back of a motorbike?” 

-

“What are you going to tell your mother?”

“That I like you, and that nothing she says will make me stop liking you. I’ll leave the motorcycle out for now.” 

-

She kissed his jaw lightly as the sun came up. 

“We should get you back up before your sister notices,” he said sleepily. 

They walked hand in hand and he left her with a brief, soft kiss. 

-

Sansa would not stop smiling at her. All day, Arya would glance up and see her sister with a secretive grin on her playing on her cherry red lips. Arya internally rolled her eyes at whatever Sansa was plotting - some scheme to get her back together with Ned Dayne, no doubt.

-

Arya had just tucked herself into bed when Sansa charged into the room and plopped herself down on the bed. She looked positively ready to burst

“Oh, I can’t take it anymore, Arya. The stableboy?” Arya felt her the colour drain from her face. 

“What about him?” She asked, feigning innocence and sending a silent prayer to any god that would listen. Sansa groaned and pulled her phone out. There, on Sansa’s screen, was a photo of Arya and Gendry from early that morning. They were holding hands. Sansa swiped to another photo, this one showed Gendry smiling down at her. The third one showed the pair embracing and the fourth, the kiss he had left her with. 

Arya stared at her phone and then at her sister, who was grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Arya! Although, I totally can at the same time. Forbidden love! Oh, it’s like in a movie. Of course, it’s totally inappropriate. But after spending all that time in Dorne, I mean, they’re so _free_ down there. Gods, it’s like, who cares who you love? But he _is_ the help, Arya, I mean, it’s romantic as anything but -,” 

“Sansa!” Arya said, her voice wavering a little. “Please don’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Oh, Arya,” Sansa gave her a sisterly pat on the knee. “You’re so adorable. I won’t tell anyone. Only Jeyne, because I had to tell _someone_ and she just about died at the photos. We both agree he’s totally gorgeous, by the way.” 

“You sent those photos to Jeyne?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, she’s not going to show anyone.” 

-

**ARYA STARK’S SECRET SUITOR**

**Goodbye, rehab rumours! We’ve found the real reason Arya Stark hasn’t been seen all summer - who would want to leave the family estate when you’ve got a tall, brawny, handsome companion? The two sure bring to mind the ill-fated pairing of her late aunt Lyanna and our dear PM - hopefully Arya and her mystery hunk will have a happier ending than those two!**

It hadn’t quite made the back page. Instead, it was tucked in amongst other blurbs about celebrity couples, a few pages in. They had chosen to print the photo of Gendry smiling at her and the photo of their kiss. Arya nearly choked on her toast as she ran from the dining room. 

-

Sansa stared at the page incredulously, having been woken up by Arya yelling her name and tossing the paper at her. 

“Next time you see Jeyne Poole, tell her she’s a proper -,” Arya’s phone cut her off. There was an incoming call from Catelyn Stark. 

-

She rushed to Gendry’s cottage and pounded on the door. He opened up and squinted - he had clearly still been in bed. 

“What’s up?” he asked with a grin. She shoved the newspaper at him. 

“I’m so sorry.” His eyes grew wide as he took in the photos and their blurb. 

“How?” He asked, his voice a little hoarse.

“Sansa. She sent them to her friend and trusted that they wouldn’t go any further. My mum will be here by the late afternoon.” She felt ill as she looked at him, his face growing pale.

“Is there anything I can do?” His voice was concerned and earnest and she felt a surge of affection towards him. She - with some assistance from Sansa and Jeyne - had almost certainly lost him his job, had thrown him into the awful world tabloid news, and he was worried about _her_. 

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his hair. She kissed him like it might be the last time she ever would. He pulled her tight to his body and she felt steady, calm, and for a moment not at all worried about her mother’s imminent arrival. 

“Just remember that I don’t care what they think, yeah?” Arya said. She stepped away, knowing that she should be at the house when Catelyn and Robb returned. Gendry gave her a reassuring smile. 

-

Arya sat in her mother’s study, where she had been instructed by Septa Mordane to wait. Sansa attempted to apologize about a hundred times as Arya had made her way there, but she wasn’t ready to speak to Sansa just yet. 

It felt like hours before the door opened and Catelyn and Robb swept in. 

 

“Well,” Catelyn said, her voice cold, “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Arya.” Arya didn’t respond. “Before we begin, I would like to confirm that he was telling the truth when he said that he didn’t force himself upon you.” Arya’s mouth dropped open and she made to stand, but Robb put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Just answer her, Arya,” he said, his voice concerned and brotherly.

“He would _never_ ,” she spat, horrified at the thought of Gendry having to answer to that.

“Good,” Catelyn said, “Then we can move on to the matter of what on earth you were thinking! Sleeping around like a harlot, getting involved with the help, and allowing yourself to be photographed in the act.” Arya couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter. Catelyn stared at her. 

“Sleeping around like a harlot? He’s one man! He’s only the third guy I’ve been with, by the way - not that it’s any of your business,” Robb was looking out the window, clearly not wanting to think about his little sister sleeping with anyone. Arya addressed Catelyn. “And if I recall, Sansa is the one who sent those photos to Jeyne, so I hardly see how the photographs are my fault. Besides, it was a kiss! What’s so scandalous about a kiss?”

“What’s so scandalous about Arya Stark, the sister of the soon-to-be youngest Deputy Prime Minister in Westerosi history, who has already embarrassed us enough this year, kissing a member of the estate staff, who, I might add, is _very_ fortunate to have avoided a criminal record?” They stared at each other, each daring the other one to answer. Catelyn broke first. “You have to realize how this makes you look, Arya.” 

“What?” Arya asked, “I’m a slut because I fucked the stable guy? Fine. That’s me! Your slutty daughter and her lowborn boyfriend. I apologize for causing the scandal of the week, if anyone even cares for that long. I’m sure Joffrey will be photographed with more cocaine before -,”

“Do you want to talk about scandal, Arya?” Catelyn said sharply, her eyes flashing at Arya. She dropped the very front page of the Evening Edition onto the desk in front of her daughter. 

There, again, was the photo of Gendry kissing Arya. Beside it was a photo of Robert Baratheon as a young man, his beard full and his eyes bright. And beside that was a photo of Gendry. It looked like it had been taken for a school ID, his eyes bored and his hair a mess. He and Robert were almost completely identical, and Arya felt her insides twist into a thousand knots.

**BOBBY’S BASTARD?**

**In a stunning and exclusive development, it has been put forth that Gendry Waters, 25, of King’s Landing, could very well be the illegitimate son of Prime Minister Robert Baratheon. Waters was spotted sharing a smooch with Arya Stark, the feather-ruffling daughter of the late Ned Stark, PM Baratheon’s oldest friend. Just weeks from the polls opening, what kind of threat does Waters’ existence pose to our PM’s hope at re-election? Did ex-wife and current political opponent Cersei Lannister know about a secret child before their divorce proceedings took place? FULL STORY on pg. 3.**

-

“No,” Arya said. “No, that isn’t possible.” She stood up and looked between her mother and Robb. “Has he seen this?” Robb nodded. Arya moved swiftly towards the study door, but Robb stepped in front of her. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Catelyn asked. 

“To talk to him!” Arya said, “To see if he’s alright. Robb, move.” Her brother looked at her sadly but did not budge. 

“The boy is gone, Arya,” her mother said, and there was a trace of satisfaction in her voice. Arya spun and stared at her.

“What? Why?”

“Arya, we can’t have you becoming more entangled with this boy. We can’t have anything to do with this scandal, we need this to be buried as swiftly and as neatly as possible.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” she said, disgusted with her mother’s tone, “He’s not a scandal or something to cover up. He’s a person, a good and kind and honest person who didn’t ask for any of this. I need to talk to him, please.”

Robb spoke now. “He’s gone, Arya, we’ve told you. He agreed that things between the two of you were over and he left quietly.” 

“No,” Arya said, shaking her head, “he wouldn’t just leave.” Her chest felt tight as she looked at her brother’s serious and slightly pitying face. 

“The danger of laying down with men like our stable boy,” Catelyn said, with a little sadness and a little condescension, “is that you'll learn that a stack of cash is where their true loyalty lies.” She gave Arya a smile that she clearly meant to be sympathetic. “Apparently for Gendry, your company was worth an even five thousand crowns. He will say nothing to the press about you, your relationship, or Robert Baratheon. He will not attempt any direct contact with this house or the Prime Minister.” 

Arya felt tears of fury spring to her eyes. Her words were hard to find but they did come, choked out and hollow-sounding. “Dad would be ashamed of you both.” 

She pushed past Robb, and stormed out of the study. Sweeping past Sansa, who was anxiously waiting outside, past a stern looking Septa Mordane, she ran right out the front doors of the house. The river was quiet and calm and Arya held her knees to her chest as she cried on the bank.

-

Arya didn’t speak to them. She slept and ate and spoke only to the staff. She and Lottie made raspberry scones and she ignored the sad glances the cook sent her every now and then. She had to climb right onto the countertop to reach the sugar jar.

-

It wasn’t him that she was mad at. She couldn’t blame him for fucking off, for taking one look at the awful reality of her world and wanting no part in it. But that didn’t stop her from hurting, and it didn’t stop her from hating him - just a little bit - as she lay in bed at searched for sleep.

-

Sansa found her on the riverbank. 

“I told Trys not to bring Ned.”

“Cheers.” 

“I’m really sorry, Arya.”

“I know.” 

“I think he was in love with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Really, I do.”

“Then why’d he take the money?”

-

She continued to check in on and help with the household tasks. Catelyn probably looked livid as Arya walked in from a day of weeding, her knees and elbows and fingernails covered in dirt, but Arya didn’t spare her mother a glance.

-

“Robb told me everything,” Jon said, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Arya replied bluntly.

“I’m sorry he took the money, Arya. Men are pricks sometimes.”

“I think you’re cutting out, Jon. I’ll talk to you another time, okay?”

-

“I was trying to protect you.” Robb was standing in the foyer when Arya entered the house. She had been by the river and hadn’t expected anyone to still be awake. “I know guys like Gendry, guys who find a girl they can squeeze something out of and stick around until they’ve got what they wanted.” 

“Robb,” she said, looking him directly in the eye. It was the first time she had spoken to him since the night Gendry had left. “You were trying to protect yourself. Yourself and your polls and Robert Baratheon. You don’t know any guys like Gendry.” 

-

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend him. He had taken the money. He had chosen to cash in and walk away instead of fighting for her. 

But she imagined being in Gendry’s shoes. His face plastered on the front of the evening edition, with a headline about being the Prime Minister’s bastard son. Her family, accusing him of forcing himself upon her and who knew what else. She couldn’t blame him, even if a part of her wanted to.

-

Arya was glad that she didn’t have his phone number. What would she even say to him? 

_Don’t spend it all in one place._

_I thought I’d be worth at least six grand._

_I hope you’re alright. I’m sorry this happened._

_I miss you._

-

Robert Baratheon’s polling numbers suffered amidst the scandal of an illegitimate bastard son cropping up two weeks before the election, but he still held a comfortable lead over Cersei Lannister. Robb went back to King’s Landing and the rest of the Starks were to follow within the week. There were photos to be taken and dinners to attend and elections to be won.

-

The letter arrived on her last day at Winterfell. Arya was surprised by the seal on the envelope - she had not realized the Crownlands Society for Action and Equality sent letters out to volunteers. Mycah and herself had bid goodbye to the workers on their last day in the spring and had promised to be back come the fall, and she figured that had been all they would need. 

_Dear Miss Stark,_

_We are writing to thank you for the generous donation that was made in your name earlier this month. You have seen first hand how far money can go in paying off legal fees and supporting grassroots activism across Westeros. The five thousands crowns you have donated will be integral to our growth this year, and we cannot express to you how grateful we are. This is the largest donation we have received in years, and we truly feel honoured to have you on our side._

_Additional to the monetary donation, the time you spend volunteering with us is deeply appreciated. With the election around the corner, we will need every voice we can to keep our leaders accountable - whether those leaders be Stags or Lions. We look forward to seeing you in the coming weeks!_

_Yours,_

_The entire team at CSAE._

She reread it three times before allowing her face to break into a grin. She felt dizzy and furious with him and a little bit in love. 

-

She smiled at the house as the car pulled away and headed to the train station. Since he had left, Arya had felt a war within herself, feeling as if she hadn’t known Gendry half as well as she had thought. Gendry had seemed the admirable type, the type of man who might stoically walk away without taking the money. 

This was far better than admirable, though. 

-

She kept the letter in her wallet. It felt like a love letter.

-

Late summer in King’s Landing was hazy and busy and hot. Every night there was a different event to attend, and Arya was sick of sweating all evening in little cocktail dresses that her mother had picked out for her. She was sat between Sansa and some different old man each time, listening to everyone kiss up to Robb and Catelyn and Prime Minister Baratheon. 

-

The night before the election, she found Robb in the kitchen of the house they were being put up in. It was expensive and modern - the fridge had a television screen on it and the stove could be turned on with a voice command. It made her excited to move back into her and Mycah’s simple little apartment near the school campus the next week.

Robb was sitting on the floor, holding a glass of chocolate milk and looking miserable. Arya sat beside him. 

“You’re gonna win, Robb.” He looked at her sadly and sighed. 

“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about what comes after. What if I’m no good?”

“You will be good. And if you’re not, you’ll learn how to get better.”

“You said dad would be ashamed of me. I’m scared you might be right.” 

Arya paused for a moment, considering her eldest brother. “Robb, when I protest the policies put in place by your friends and colleagues, it’s not because I hate everything about those people, and it’s definitely not because I hate you. When I talk about the things that are wrong, it’s because I want them to change.” Her brother smiled down at her.

“You know I admire the hell out of you, right?” Arya rolled her eyes and carried on.

“I don’t think you were fair to Gendry, and I don’t think Robert and the rest of the party are perfect, but I know you guys are better than the Lannisters. I know that you guys can make Westeros a better place for everyone.”

Robb took a sip of his chocolate milk. “So you don’t totally hate my politics, then?”

“Nah. This country had been ruled by the same six or seven surnames for centuries, though, and it would be pretty cool to say that my brother was one of the guys who started to change that.” Robb smiled at that. “And I know that dad’s proud of you, even if you’ve made a couple of errors in judgement along the way.” She leaned her head on his shoulder.

-

“I’m sorry he took the money, Arya,” Robb said. “And I’m sorry we offered it in the first place.” Neither had spoken for twenty minutes. 

“He didn’t.” 

“Arya, I wrote him the cheque myself.”

“He gave the money to an activist group I volunteer with. I had told him about how they do the best with what they have, but they’re quite underfunded. They contacted me this week to thank me for my five thousand crown donation.” Robb was silent for a moment.

“Huh,” he said, and then he let out a small chuckle. “No wonder you liked him.” 

“I still do.” 

-

Robert Baratheon won. It wasn’t quite a landslide, but it was comfortable. Robb and Catelyn both had tears in their eyes. Sansa hugged Arya tightly before running to Robb. Arya congratulated her brother, his face almost as red as his hair from all of the excitement and nerves. She shook Robert Baratheon’s hand and he smiled at her fondly, a sparkle in his eyes as she told him she was happy for him.

“I hear you have some wonderful ideas about how the world should be run,” he said with a grin. She threw Robb an accusatory glare before smiling at the Prime Minister.

“I do,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“We’ll have to chat, then,” Robert said, “Your father was never afraid to tell me when I was being a git, so I don’t want you to hold back.”

-

“You look so beautiful, Arya,” Sansa said softly, touching the simple black dress, one that Arya had picked out herself. 

“You too, Sansa.” Sansa was in a gold dress that made her look like a princess. Sansa looked as if she wanted to apologize again, but Arya grabbed her hand and led the way out to meet the rest of the family. 

-

“By the way, Robb,” Arya said as they got out of the limousine, “You could have mentioned that you’d told Robert that I had ‘ideas about the way the world should be run’. I must have blushed like an idiot.” Robb blinked at her.

“Sorry, what are you talking about?” 

Catelyn grabbed them both by the elbows. “Get inside, you two. We’ve only minutes til Robb’s expected on stage, go on.” 

-

The celebration was sparkly and loud and jovial. Robert and Robb gave speeches, Catelyn cried, and even Arya got a little bit emotional when Robb mentioned their father. Strangers kept approaching Arya to shake her hand or kiss her cheek, telling her how happy they were for her. 

-

It all felt like something out a movie, golden and happy and perfect. She looked at Robb, who was speaking to a pretty brunette reporter with a somewhat starry-eyed look on his face. At the bar, Trystane’s arm snaked comfortably around Sansa’s waist. Ned Dayne was nearby, speaking to a dolled-up Jeyne Poole. Arya felt a pang of sadness and touched her purse, where she had tucked the letter from CSAE. She didn’t have an address or a phone number. All she had was Hot Pie’s and a two block radius, but that was enough. 

She spun, ready to find him, to make everything right, and ran right into a solid, familiar chest. 

-

“You going somewhere?” Gendry asked with a smile, though his eyes seemed to search her face desperately, as if he couldn’t believe she was really in front of him. 

She stared at him. He was wearing a suit, but his top button was undone and he seemed to have forgotten a tie. His hair looked as if he had attempted to comb it aside, but it was still falling into his face. 

“How are you here?” 

“I was invited,” he shrugged, holding up the little RSVP card, “Pops said he wanted me here. Father-son bonding sort of thing.” She continued to stare at him, utterly lost. “He asked me to come,” Gendry said, the sarcasm in his voice gone, “He thought it would send a good message.” 

“And you agreed with that?” Arya asked incredulously. 

“No,” Gendry scoffed, “I don’t care how it looks for him. I came to see you.” She suddenly felt as if she had 20 flutes of champagne, rather than the two she had actually consumed. 

“Do you want to get some air?”

-

They stood on a balcony overlooking the city. “So you met with him?”

Gendry scowled and looked out over King’s Landing. “Yeah.” 

“And you are...,”

“Don’t know,” he said with a funny smile, “His people summoned me into his office one day. He wanted to pay for my degree, a new apartment, everything I could ever want - once I took the paternity test and confirmed that I’m his son.” Arya exhaled heavily.

“You haven’t got the results yet?” She asked, and Gendry laughed. 

“I told him to piss off. Said I didn’t need the money, which is mostly true, and that if the only poor people he wants to help are the ones unlucky enough to be related to him, the country’s fucked.” Arya blinked at him before chuckling and shaking her head. 

“I’m sure he loved that.”

“Funnily enough, I think he did. He stopped me and asked me to come to the post-election event, win or lose, to help him show the world that he's not the world's worst father. I tried to tell him to piss off again, but then he reminded me that you’d be there.” Gendry shrugged. “He said he let his Stark girl go, and that he’s regretted it every day since.” He was blushing now, and not looking at her. “We talked about you for a bit. I told him he should listen to what you have to say, cause you’ve got a better sense of the world than he does. I don’t think his bodyguards liked me too much, which I suppose is fair.” 

Arya reached over and took his hand in hers. They stood and looked out at the city, a million things remaining unsaid. But they had time. 

-

“Well,” She said as they re-entered the party, “if you’re going to escort me to fancy parties like this in the future, I suppose it’s good that you two have gotten at least some of the awkwardness out of the way.” He smiled and knocked his shoulder against hers. 

“I’m escorting you to parties now?”

“I could always find someone else if you're not interested,” she said nonchalantly, “Ned Dayne is right over there, you know. I hear he owns a yacht.” 

-

“Nice to meet you, I’m Loras Tyrell, Deputy Minister of Agriculture.”

“Gendry Waters, unemployed.” 

-

“Arya Stark! You look stunning - who are you wearing? Hi, I’m Mary Trant of KLN News, and you are…,”

“Gendry Waters. You’ve written, like, over seven articles about me this week.”

-

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Jeyne Poole, I’m a friend of Sansa’s.”

“Gendry Waters. You guys are still friends?”

-

“Arya, hey. You look awesome, did you change your hair?”

“Hey, Ned. This is -,”

“Her boyfriend. Arya’s boyfriend.” 

-

“Hi, Daenerys Targaryen, Drogon Industries. Arya, it’s been far too long. And you must be Gendry… Rivers, is it?”

“Waters.”

-

“You’re bad at this,” she said, looking up at him fondly. 

“I’ll get better with practice, I’m sure.” 

“I hope not.” 

-

Sansa gasped when she saw Gendry with Arya and rushed over, grabbing each of them by the arm. She had clearly had a few drinks, and looked as though she might burst into tears. 

“I am so sorry for those photographs,” she said, looking at Gendry. “You two are so perfect and I almost ruined everything.” Gendry looked taken aback at her emotional state. 

“It’s alright,” he said, sounding unsure. 

“Come with us to the after party!” Sansa said, gesturing to a group of young folk who were gathering by the doors. 

“Thanks, Sansa,” Arya said, and she meant it. “But I think we’re good.”

-

Arya waved goodbye to her mother from across the room. Catelyn looked shocked to see Gendry, but as she stepped forward, Robb touched his mother’s arm and began to speak to her quickly and quietly. The Prime Minister gave Arya and Gendry a big thumbs up and Gendry gave him a short nod in reply. 

-

“What are you doing?” Gendry asked, as Arya moved towards the line of black town cars that were escorting guests home. “The bike’s this way.” 

-

They arrived at his apartment too soon for Arya’s liking. “Just around the neighbourhood once more,” she said into his ear, tightening her grip around his waist, “Please.” 

He wasn’t good at saying no to her.

-

Arya was straddling him, fiddling with the hooks of her bra strap, when she froze. “The letter!” 

Gendry looked up from her breasts, disappointed, and furrowed his brow. She leapt off of him and the bed and grabbed her purse from the floor. He sat up and watched as she pulled out the folded letter and tossed it to him. “You’re unbelievable.” He unfolded the letter and read, smiling.

“I was hoping you’d know what it meant,” he said, as she slid back onto his lap so that they were face to face. 

“And what did it mean?” She said against his lips. 

“I think you know that,” he whispered, tracing a hand down her spine. 

“I want to hear you say it,” she smiled.

“I’m in love with you, Arya Stark.” 

“Good,” she said, “Cause I’m in love with you, too.” She kissed him and pushed him flat onto his back before returning to the clasp of her bra.


End file.
